What Happens in Denerim
by bamftastik
Summary: Alistair, Oghren & Sten wake up in an inn with no memory of how they got there, where they lost Zevran or whose baby that is... Based on the plot of The Hangover
1. Chapter 1

"Ohhh Maker."

He had dreamed he was back in the Chantry, sent again by the Revered Mother to gather eggs from the henhouse. It had been a very _large_ Chantry; they had needed _a lot_ of eggs. Burying his mouth against his arm, Alistair groaned. He could see them even now, their beady little eyes never blinking, always staring.

Shifting his head, he saw them staring still. The rooster leaned close, cocking its head, pecking, pecking…

"Argh!"

Sqwaking indignantly, it flapped its wings before falling from the bed and dropping with a thunk. Alistair clutched a pillow to his chest, panting hard. Oh Maker, what had happened to his head?

Blinking once, twice, he willed his eyes to focus. The room was small, the furnishings fine but worn and smelling vaguely of, of… well, ale. _A lot_ of ale. An inn perhaps? But they had been in the Bannorn, in camp. Hadn't they?

"Where am I?"

The snort whipped his head round, the pillow coming up before him in a practiced blocking maneuver. Sten sat stiffly in the room's only chair, watching him with narrowed eyes. "You do not know?"

"I… can't seem to remember."

The Qunari turned away with an exasperated growl.

"Do… _you_ know where we are?"

His response came slow, unwilling. "…No."

"Ah. Right." With some difficulty Alistair swung his legs round, sliding from the bed. But the floor moved, toppling him over with a cry.

"Wha-what?" Oghren sat stiffly, Alistair's ankle pinned beneath him, head whipping round with a bewildered expression. "Whuzzat?"

"Um… _ow_."

"Huh, boy. Didn't see ya there. What are you doing on the floor?"

"_Me?_"

"Heh. Good point." He stood, coming to his toes with a lingering stretch.

"Um… Oghren?"

"Yeh?"

"Where are your pants?"

Glancing down, the dwarf let out a rumbling laugh, slapping Alistair on the back as he hurriedly pinched shut his eyes. "Hm. Don't rightly know."

"Well, could you… could you find some…?"

Sten growled his assent.

"Aye. Right. Pants." The dwarf bent to peer beneath the bed, sending Alistair scrambling backwards with a scandalized groan. He moved then to the narrow table, pausing to scratch at his beard. "Huh."

"What?"

"Anyone seen the elf?"

There, sitting upright on the table was a single boot of Antivan leather.

The room was small and seeming even smaller by the moment but, other than Oghren's spot between the bed and the wall, there was nowhere else to hide. Alistiar shook his head. "I… I don't remember."

"Musta been a good night then."

"How do you figure that?"

The dwarf gave a knowing grin, nodding to the door just behind Sten. "What's that?"

"Washroom probably."

"Pissin' indoors, huh? Fancy."

As he moved to slip round, Sten's brows drew dangerously low. "You are still not wearing pants."

The dwarf gave him a pat on the knee as he pushed past.

The door closed behind him. A moment passed, two. Alistair tried to share a nervous smile with the Qunari but received only a snorting glare in return. Still he sat, stiff and unmoving. He almost might have seemed frightened if there was room for anything more than anger behind those stony features.

The scream made them both jump. Oghren flew through the door, slamming it shut and falling back against it as it buckled. His grin, though, was wicked. "That ain't no elf."

"What? What did you _do_?"

"Took my piss. And it knew well enough to wait, if ya know what I mean. But… heh…" He fell to chuckling.

Sten bent low, face drawing only inches from the dwarf's. One hand braced against the door, stilling it instantly. "_What_ is it?"

"Big cat of some sort. Stripes an' all. Figment of my imagination." He grinned at Alistair. "Told ya it was a good night."

"That's not a…"

Sten was already moving the dwarf aside, cracking the door to poke his head round. After a moment he growled, bracing the chair beneath the doorknob with a heavy sigh. "I do not know the word in your tongue, but we have such creatures in Seheron."

Oghren blinked up at him. "So it's really a cat, then?"

"Yes."

"Not an elf?"

"No. It is not an elf."

Again, he grinned. "Well, whadda ya know."

Alistair found himself sitting back on the bed, the pillow again held protectively before him. "Right… so… big angry cat thing in the washroom. Zevran's missing. We don't know where we are…"

All three turned at the sound, the rising wail coming from somewhere beneath the bed. Alistair's mouth worked, once, twice before the sound would come. "What is… what is that?"

Sten was already bending, pulling back the blankets to peer beneath the bed. Even his expression seemed to hold something like bewilderment as he straightened. "It is… a child."

"Oh yeah." Oghren's grin was sheepish. "Baby. Right. Saw that there earlier."

"A _baby_? Whose baby?"

He shrugged. "Dunno." Bending low, he waggled his fingers with a cooing noise.

"Argh! Oghren! Pants!"


	2. Chapter 2

Never would he have thought to see the qunari off balance but as Sten lifted the child, holding it gingerly at arm's length, there was something decidedly… perplexed behind his expression. Alistair had to smile.

The dwarf – who had blessedly retrieved his pants – was mirroring his grin.

"Oghren!"

"What?"

"You're missing a tooth."

"Eh?" He poked a finger beneath his whiskers, wiggling round until he found the hole. "Heh. Seems I am."

"You don't remember _loosing a tooth_?"

He shrugged. "Mighta been gone a while. No tellin'." The finger came away wet and red.

"That's… blood. Fresh blood."

"Like I said, musta been a good night."

"But it's—"

"—It is a tooth." Sten bent low, peering at the dwarf with a snort. "Why is this a problem?"

"Heh. Loose 'em all the time."

"I just…" Alistair sank back on the bed, letting his head fall into his hands. "Ohh Maker, she's going to kill us."

"The Warden?"

"So you follow a recruit out of fear, then?"

"Yes… No!" His eyes snapped up. "I mean have you _seen_ her?'

There was almost a smile playing cross the qunari's lips.

"We don't know where we are and we've lost Zevran and we've got this baby and this-this cat thing and-and…"

Oghren sat beside him, clapping him on the back with a chuckle. "Know whatcha need boy." Fishing amongst the pillows, he pulled free a familiar flask. "Hair o' the nug, as we say."

"No! No more ale!"

Sten pulled the child closer, snorting beneath a rumbling whisper as its tiny fingers curled against his face. "_Vashedan_. You are the most sensible one here."

"Maybe…" Alistair stood. "…maybe he went to the common room."

Rocking back on the bed, Oghren took a long pull from the flask. "Who?"

"Zevran!"

"Aye, be just like the elf to run off and leave us here."

"Well, we should go look, right?"

"We cannot stay here." Bending, Sten lay the baby against the pillows. After a moment's thought, he tucked the blanket round.

"You can't_ leave_ him here!"

"The child is not our responsibility."

"Oh yes, let's leave a _baby_ in the room with the giant man-eating cat thing! For all we know it ate Zevran."

Oghren rolled from the bed with a laugh.

"That's not funny!"

Sten had bent again to the child, lifting it with a grimace. He looked to Alistair then, shifting awkwardly, to the dwarf teetering to his feet. With a rumbling growl, he ripped the blanket from the bed, wrapping it round his shoulder to form a sort of sling. As he lay the child there it cooed.

Alistair was gaping, couldn't help it.

The qunari, though, only narrowed his eyes. "I could kill you with ease."

"Riiight…"

* * *

It must have been early; the common room was nearly empty. A few serving girls bustled about, clearing away the last signs of the night's revelry, but none looked up as they slipped into a corner table. It was cramped, dingy… familiar. Alistair groaned.

"This is the Pearl."

"Heh." Oghren's grin widened, head whipping about as if he expected a parade of half-clad women to spring from the floorboards. "Told ya, boy."

Sten only snorted in disapproval. The babe had settled in his lap, stretching to reach tiny, pink hands across the table. He watched it with an almost bemused expression.

"Right. Well. We were in camp. Now we're… here..."

One of the serving girls ranged closer, smiling sweetly as Oghren chuckled. "Mmm, breakfast."

"You'd eat here?" Alistair shook his head. "I don't think I could eat here. I don't think I could _eat_."

"Wasn't talkin' about the food, boy."

"Right."

She leaned elbows on the table, stretching to fix each of them with a winking grin. "Cute kid."

"Have you… have you seen an elf?"

"I've seen many elves. What does my lord fancy?"

Alistair flushed crimson, shifting awkwardly. "No, not… not like that. Blonde hair, tattoo on his face."

"Something Dalish, then? Exotic, yes, but I'm sure we can accommodate…"

Oghren snorted. "Specific elf. Woulda been in here with us. Antivan." He chortled. "You hear any bad poetry last night?"

The girl stood, folding her arms as her face darkened. "Haven't seen 'im." With that, she turned on her heel.

"Greeeat… Hey, hold on." Shifting in his seat, Alistair fished into his pocket, to the awkward bulge pinching there. "What's this?" It was small, pointed, a dingy yellow. "Oh, ew!"

"Heh. Found my tooth, didja?"

"Uh. Here..." He flicked it cross the table to the dwarf. "Guess I figured you might want it."

"Nice of ya." He slipped it into his pocket.

"Hey, wait! Pockets, check your pockets."

Sten gave him a dubious look, shifting the babe carefully as he searched. The page was small, rumpled, but even the big man looked surprised as he handed it over.

"It's a receipt of some sort, a ledger from… from the Wonders of Thedas. What were we doing– Maker, is that a _fish_?"

Oghren had come to his feet, emptying his pouches. He picked up the worn bit of scale and bone and gave it a deep sniff. "'S not ready yet." He tucked it back amongst his things.

"Ready for _what_?! Wait, wait, I don't want to know." Looking again to the crumpled bit of paper, Alistair sighed. "Well, I guess it's a place to start."

As they stood, the serving girl reappeared. "My lords are leaving?

"Yeah."

"A moment, just a moment. I'll have them bring the carriage round."

Alistair mouthed the word, but no sound would come. Sten's scowl only deepened.

Outside the sun was already glaring, though by the empty streets the hour was early still. Shielding his eyes, Alistair squinted toward the rooftops. Maker, but it felt like the archdemon itself was squatting inside his skull. It caught his eye, then, dropped and discarded on the street. Bending, he retrieved the breeches, tracing a finger across the intricate leatherwork.

"Uh… guys?"

Oghren snorted. "Zevran's."

"So wherever he is… he's wearing no pants and one boot."

"Sound like you're surprised." The dwarf chortled.

"Well, okay, _no_…"

It thundered round the corner, the dust choking as they turned away. The carriage was broad and enclosed, drawn by a pair of fine-looking horses, the emblem on the side glinting in the early light.

"Ohh…"

"What?"

"That's the _Arl's_ carriage."

"Heh. Well—"

"I know, I_ know_. 'It must have been a good night.'"

"Nah. Was gonna say, we're in a lot of trouble. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts." With that the dwarf swung up into the driver's seat, knocking the startled stableboy out of the way. Sten was already bundling the baby into the passenger's box.

"No. No! You can't be serious…" At their glares he flushed, glancing toward his feet as he mounted the steps. "Maker's breath."

Still the stableboy lingered near, hand held out expectantly. Sten leaned low, lips pulling back in a growl as he slammed the carriage door.


	3. Chapter 3

"The Wonders of Thedas. Arl Eamon bought me a miniature golem doll here once. When I was younger… much, much younger."

Alistair grinned sheepishly, glancing to Sten, but the big man didn't seem to have heard him. He stood blinking up at the sign, one hand straying to still the babe still strapped across his chest. "Why would we come here?"

Oghren rounded the corner, having stashed the carriage in the narrow gap between two of the sagging buildings. Still the horses pawed the dirt, snorting to throw their plumed and gleaming manes. Right. Very inconspicuous.

Pushing through the door, Alistair let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Maker, but that was a relief. The shop was cluttered, dusty, the lone man behind the counter sparing them only the barest of glances. He did not look up as they approached.

"Hey." Alistair waved his hand beneath the man's face. "Hey. Hi."

The man looked up with a glazed expression. "…Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas…"

"Riiight. Bloody Tranquil. Hey… do you, err… do you recognize us? Were we in here… last night?" Pulling the receipt from his pocket, he dropped it on the counter.

"…Yes…"

"Was there an elf with us?"

"…Yes…"

Sten stepped forward then. "And a child. This child?"

Only a Tranquil could stare up at the sight of a scowling qunari with a cooing babe strapped across his chest and not blink. "…No…"

Sten growled but Alistair's gaze had strayed down the counter. Stepping round, he bent low.

"Hey! They _do_ have dolls here! Erm, figures… I meant… figures. Look at the little demon and the warrior and – hey! – a dragon. These look just like my— these _are_ mine!" He turned to the proprietor. "Where did you get these?"

The tranquil nodded vaguely toward and crumpled receipt. "…Taken on trade…"

"Trade? For _what_?"

Pulling a ledger from beneath the counter, he sighed. "…One… ring…"

"A ring? What ring?"

"…Ring of Eternal Binding... Blessed in the Chantry… Said to bind wife to husband as Andraste to the Maker…"

"Wait… a _wedding_ ring?"

"…Yes…For your wedding…"

Alistair goggled. "_My wedding?_"

"…You appeared to be… very excited…"

"To _who_?" He leaned heavy on the counter. "Ohh… I think I'm going to be ill…"

"Again?" Sten shifted away. "A true warrior must steel even his stomach. The Beresaad are trained to withstand the effects of many poisons and—"

"Okay, it was once, _once_. And I said I was sorry. It was just a … bumpy… carriage ride…" Bending double, he retched. "Ohhh, Maker."

Oghren lay a hand on his back. "Heh. Well done, lad. Wouldn'ta gone with the _marriage_ part myself but… heh."

"Actually, he didn't." They hadn't seen the other man, descending the steps under a load of books. Dropping them on the counter, he brushed the dust from his sleeves. He was younger than the other, though the lined and harried expression marked him as clearly not tranquil. He nodded to Sten. "_He_ did."

"What?!"

The man blinked at Alistair, still-half bent. His eyes, though, strayed to Sten, widening at what they saw there.

"You did _buy_ the ring. You didn't have any coin but were insisting that your friend have a – what did you call it? – '_proper_ wedding.' 'With a ring and everything,' you said. Bought it for him on trade."

Oghren was shaking with restraint, his grin splitting wide. "Nice of you, boy."

"Impossible." The word came rumbling deep. Even Alistair found himself afraid to turn around.

The man only shook his head. "I don't know much about the… qunari, is it? About their ways in marriage or…" His eyes narrowed. "…children. But she's a beautiful girl and there's not many men as would… well, you know."

"Would what?" Sten leaned low, putting his face only inches from the man's own.

"Eh, girl like that, you know… But she's beautiful, really. You should be very happy."

"Like what?"

"Well… well, a-a whore."

"_Ha!_" Oghren had abandoned all pretense, toppling over backward as he roared.

Folding his arms, Sten straightened. "Impossible. The qunari do not marry."

There was obvious relief on the man's face. "That's-that's what I thought. But this one…" He gestured to Alistair. "…was quite insistent about it. Giddy, you might say. Took care of all the details."

"_Me?_"

Sten was moving again, stepping near. "Dwarf."

From somewhere below them, Oghren snorted, choking between fits. "Yeh?"

"I will need you to hold the child." His eyes narrowed menacingly. "It will only take a moment."

"No, no, _hey!_" Alistair found himself backing away. "I-I don't remember any of this!"

It was the tranquil who spoke then, blinking up at them as if for the first time. "…The smiling qunari…"

"Smiling! Hey, you were smiling!" Alistair bent to pull Oghren to his feet, taking the opportunity to slip behind him as he did so. "You must have been happy about it."

The assistant nodded. "You friend was quite… eager. Doting. Like I said, she's a beautiful girl."

"Ha! See?"

Sten subsided with a rumbling growl.

"And where's this girl now?" Still Oghren grinned, rubbing at his back. "Would like to get a look at her myself."

The man only shrugged. "From here you went to the Chantry, I believe."

"Right. The Chantry. Thank you."

Oghren made as if to lay a hand on the stunned qunari's arm, but Sten shrugged him off, making for the door. Alistair turned there, taking one last wistful look at the counter.

"I'll be back for those."

The assistant bowed.

Once outside, Sten leaned heavy against the wall, sinking to sit on an upturned crate.

"You okay?"

"I merely wish to rest my legs."

"Riight…"

Oghren clapped him on the back. "Married life's… heh. Well, it'sa thing, isn't it? 'Til she up and leaves you for some bloody hunk of cursed rock. Or a soddin' nug-munching, wife-stealing…" The growl was lost beneath a dripping pull from his flask.

"My friends!"

Alistair whirled at the familiar accent, but it was a human dashing toward them, grinning beneath his dark whiskers. He slipped an arm roughly around Alistair's shoulders, pulling him into a painful embrace.

"Umm… hello?"

The man pulled back, grinning still. "Eh? What? You don't remember Caesar?"

He looked to Sten, who only glowered, to Oghren wiping the ale from him chin. The Antivan followed his gaze.

"Ahh, this guy!" Bending quick, he wrapped his arms round Sten. "This crazy bastard! And where is your beautiful wife?"

The qunari stood stiffly, but the smaller man was already moving away.

Alistair shook his head. "I'm sorry, do we… know you?"

"Eh… you play with me? No?" He shook his head. "You come to my stall last night. In the market district, yes? You say 'Caesar, we have had a wedding!' and 'Caesar, what is that beautiful animal?'"

"—Animal? The… cat-thing?"

"The tiger, yes." He turned to Sten with a wink. "The lady, she especially liked, eh?"

"So this… _tiger_…?"

"Special gift. For the Arl's son."

"The Arl."

Lowering his voice, he blinked up at Alistair. "So I need it back, yes? He'll be here to claim it soon. Not happy, not a nice man."

"Right. Come get it. We'll take you to it."

"'Come get it?'" He laughed. "No, no, no, my friends. It is a _tiger_. You took it, you bring it back to Caesar, yes? Or I tell the Arl where you are."

"Great. How are we supposed to move a-a _tiger_?"

The Antivan shrugged. "How did you move it last night? You get me drunk and then you 'borrow.'" He snorted. "By noon. Or I send the guards."

Watching him go, Alistair could only groan.


	4. Chapter 4

"And here I had almost started to miss this place." Stepping down from the carriage, Alistair blinked up at the cracked and peeling sign. They had returned to the Pearl. There hadn't been much choice, really. "Do we have – you know – a plan?"

Sten sighed. "We will return the beast to the merchant."

"Yes. Right. And how will we _do_ that exactly? And what about Zevran, the baby… your wife?"

"First the beast."

"Ah. This is your way of being avoidy, isn't it?"

The qunari scowled.

"Heh. Well shave my back and call me an elf." Oghren had hopped down from the driver's seat and was staring toward the brothel door. There, just out of the mud and sitting upright like its mate had been, was a lone boot.

Alistair shook his head. "Was that… there before?"

"Nope. Bloody Antivans."

"You think he's playing with us?"

"_Pashaara_. We have no time for this." Wrapping a protective arm round the child, Sten scooped up the offending footwear and pushed through the door.

It lunged at them with a piercing shriek, Alistair's hand going to his sword before he realized that – wicked or no – darkspawn were not likely to launch an ambush from inside a whorehouse. It was only a woman, though her cries would have been enough to put a sizable horde to shame.

"Blessed Andraste, _here_ you are!"

She pressed herself against Sten rather… emphatically, arms barely reaching round the qunari's bulk. Alistair had seen him face genlocks, ogres, legions of the undead but only now did he see him stiffen, lips pressing white as his eyes pinched closed.

"Um… miss?"

"Alistair!" She turned the attack on him now, wrapping him in an eager hug as she stretched to peck his cheek. Pale and golden haired, she was not unpretty, her smile splitting wide as she leaned back to look at him. "Where have you _been_?"

"We… ah…"

But already she had turned away, bending now to the baby still strapped across Sten's chest. She hoisted it easily, balancing it against her hip.

Only now did the big man move. "The child… is yours?"

"Of course, silly! But I wouldn't have been so worried if I had known he was with his _father_."

Sten mumbled what must have been a growling curse, but still the woman beamed up at him, slipping her free arm through his. Strangely enough, he allowed himself to be led.

"Come. Sit. I'll have the girls make us some breakfast."

Sinking again into one of the creaking chairs, Alistair ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry I… uh, what was your name?"

She giggled at that, one hand trailing along Sten's arm as he sat stiffly in the chair beside her. He watched it there, eyes narrowing as though he expected it to sting. "You know my name, silly. Fluorspar."

"Fluorspar?"

"Or _Flora_." Laughing, she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"_I_ like it."

"Thank you, Oghren."

The dwarf beamed.

"Look… Flora. Have you seen—"

"—So. Did you two…? You know… Heh…."

"Oghren!"

"…Polish the Footstones? Mine the Deep Roads? Play a little Hide the Nug?"

Alistair could see Sten stiffening further with every word. Flora, though, only laughed. "Of course we did! It was our _wedding night_!"

"Heh. Knew it."

She turned to Sten, fingers curling through his. "What was it you said, dear? That I have 'exceptionally strong teeth?'" Giggling she reached across the table and gave Oghren's cheek a familiar pinch. "Especially after you gave me yours for good luck."

"Ah, that explains it."

Alistair blinked. "What? The tooth? No it doesn't!"

"Heh. When ya think about it properly, it does."

"Riiight… Look. Flora. There would have been an elf with us last night. Did you see—"

"—Who? Zevran?"

"You saw him?"

Again, she laughed. "Of course. He was First Witness at our wedding."

He paused at that. "Zevran… was First Witness?"

"Oh yes. He was quite keen. _Loves_ weddings, he said."

"I really don't want to know why, do I?"

She only shrugged.

Sten was watching her now, the stillness behind his eyes unsettling. Alistair found himself coming to his feet.

"Flora. We've… uh… There's something we have to do. For the Arl. A delivery."

"Yes." Sten stood quick, knocking his chair back with an echoing scrape.

Flora didn't seem to notice his haste. Still she beamed up at them, bouncing the babe on her lap.

Oghren lay a hand on her arm. "If you see that soddin' elf…"

"I'll tell him you're looking. Sure."

As they turned and made for the room, Sten lingered, blinking down at the babe. "He will… be alright?"

"Aw, you're worried."

"I do not… worry." He turned with a growl.

In the room again, Alistair paused by the bed. Still the door to the washroom was closed, but it was silent now, still. Right. Just a cat, just a great, big… "So what are we…?"

Elbowing him aside, Sten pushed through the door, letting it slam behind him without a word.

"Andraste's flaming – Sten!"

Oghren met his wide-eyed stare, slowly shaking his head. A moment passed, the silence holding. Alistair thought he might have heard a grunt, a muted thump. When the door opened again, he outright goggled.

There stood the qunari, scowling still, the great, striped beast hanging limp over one shoulder.

Oghren let out a low whistle. "Well, call me a—"

Shifting the weight, Sten moved between them. "Come."

"But-but how did you—?"

"_Come_."

Flora's eyes rose as they returned to the common room. But there was something… impressed there, something proud. She slipped near, unafraid, expectant. Straining onto her toes, she gave the big man a peck on the cheek. "Be back soon."

His eyes shifted once, from his load to the girl and back again. There was no doubt as to which he'd rather face. He turned away without a word, leaving Alistair to stare awkwardly at his feet.

"Um… yeah. Bye."

Once outside, he found the qunari standing beside the carriage. Oghren was shaking his head. "Can't… won't fit."

Sten growled.

"Wait… where are we going to… _put_ that?"

The big man sighed. "In the carriage."

"In the… _carriage_?" Alistair felt himself backing away. "With us? What if it wakes up? What if it—?"

"There's a luggage box on the back." Oghren moved between the rear wheels, tapping a fist against the wood. "Tellin' ya it's too small, though."

Alistair moved round to stand behind him. It would be tight, yes, but perhaps they could…

The lid bucked beneath his hand.

"Uh… guys?"

Again it thumped, the voice coming muffled. He and Oghren shared a glance. "Zev!"

Quick he worked the locks, bending low as he threw back the lid.

It came at him in a flurry, claws and teeth and hair. Maker, so much _hair_. He had the vague sensation of something wrapping round his shoulders, warmth against his face, a fist connecting with his head.

"_Mekty shrowkan yo!_ Nug-humping-duster-bastards!"

Scrabbling now, Alistair got a hand between them, pushing it away from his face. Oh Maker, those were legs, tiny hairy legs, choking round his neck.

He staggered, the dwarf falling with a rising string of curses. But he was up quick, panting and filthy, facing them with a warning growl. Oh, and naked. So very, very naked.

"Oghren! What's he saying?"

But Oghren had eyes only for Alistair, the grin splitting his face.

"Oghren!"

The other dwarf lunged, the blow taking Alistair low in the stomach. With a sneer for Oghren, he darted round the wondering qunari and ran off down the street.

Bending double, Alistair groaned. "What in the—?"

"Heh. Think he likes ya."

"Who _was_ that?"

Already Oghren was swinging up into the driver's seat, chuckling down with a shrug. "Dunno."

Sten, too, was watching him, waiting by the carriage door.

"What?"

"Get in."

"Where's the…?" He straightened, still gasping for breath.

Sten nodded inside.

"Oh no, no way."

Finding himself in the driver's seat of a stolen carriage, pinned beneath a drunken dwarf and an angrier-than-usual qunari, Alistair let his head fall into his hands. "Maker's breath..."


	5. Chapter 5

"Ah, my friends, you have it?" Cesar offered up a hand to help Alistair down from the driver's seat. Still the Antivan merchant was grinning, but there was something dangerous behind his narrowed eyes. "You _do_ have it, yes?"

"Yeah." Alistair nodded toward the carriage. "Help yourself."

"No, no, no, my friends. You take her, you return." He moved to the side of his stall, swinging open the door of the cage waiting there.

As if in response, the carriage began to shake.

"Heh. Looks like someone's up."

"Great, that's just—"

"-_Pashaara_." Sten pushed between Alistair and Oghren, mounting the stairs to duck low through the door. He reappeared a moment later, the tiger thrashing behind him as he took hold of its tail. Down the steps he dragged it, claws shredding wood and paint and leather as it struggled.

Alistair dared to peek through the door, blinking at the state of the carriage beyond. "Oh bloody—"

Yowling as it hit the stone, the beast scrabbled still, turning the heads of half the market. But the qunari swung it round, flinging it into the cage as Cesar slammed shut the gate. It recovered quick, throwing itself against the bars in a hissing flurry of teeth and claws.

Sten bent there, just out of reach, pulling back his lips to snarl.

With a final defiant stretch, the tiger circled once and lay down.

"Riiiight…"

Even the merchant looked impressed. "I have seen her take a man's arm for less."

"Does she often… eat people?"

Turning to Alistair, he shrugged. "So they say."

"What-what if Zevran…?"

Oghren snorted. "Surprised he found a woman who could stomach him."

Something seemed to be twitching behind Sten's lips.

"That's not funny."

Turning back to the carriage, Alistair leaned heavy against the wheel. There had been cushions on the benches inside, curtains to keep the passengers shielded from the sun. Now, though… now it looked like someone had gutted a tailor's shop. He felt as though he might sick up.

"What are we going to—?"

"—Hey! There they are! Hoy! You!"

Two men were sprinting through the crowd, eyes fixed on the carriage. Both wore blades across their backs, their armor matched and gleaming beneath the crest emblazoned cross their chests. Sten was already unsheathing Asala.

"No!" Lunging, Alistair grabbed his arm. "You can't! Those are the _Arl's_ guards!"

Oghren puffed beneath his whiskers. "My arse we can't."

"Not here, my friends, not here." Cesar disappeared back into his stall.

But the guards had reached them now. One had drawn his blade, barely hesitating as he leveled it at Sten's throat. The big man blinked down at it, slowly moving his hand away from his weapon with a rumbling growl.

The smaller of the guards – a woman, it seemed – backhanded Alistair with her gauntlet.

"Hey owww! Why is everybody hitting _me_?"

Grabbing his wrist, she twisted his arms behind his back, slamming his face against the side of the carriage. "Shut it! Making off with the Arl's carriage!"

"We're… sorry?"

He felt the rope slip round his hands, cutting deep as she pulled it to. As she used it to tug him back he saw her partner staring uncertainly up at Sten, the bit of rope dangling limp in his hand.

"Walk."

Titling his head, Alistair blinked back at her. "Where?"

"Just go!" The kick took him behind the knee.

"Ow!"

Sten moved ahead of the other guard, unbound but with the blade still to his throat. Hesitating a moment, the man glanced back at Oghren.

"Fine, fine. Won't give ya any trouble." The dwarf fell in behind them with a shrug.

They steered them toward a narrow alley, the gap hidden from the market by an old and sagging shed. Throwing Alistiar roughly against the wall beside the others, the woman drew her blade. Her partner seemed to have regained something of his confidence as she squared herself beside him.

"Hey, wait. What aren't _they_ tied up?"

"Shut it!" Smiling now, she nodded to her companion. "What should we do with 'em?"

His grin was wicked.

"Hey! Hey! You've _got_ the carriage." Maker, don't let them look inside of it. "Can't we just… call it a misunderstanding?"

"Misunderstanding? Ha! Misunderstanding?"

It was Sten, though, who spoke. "You serve the Arl. Why do you not take us to him?"

"…Because."

"Because they're ashamed." Oghren chortled. "You two were minding the carriage, yeh? What's he gonna say when you tell 'im ya lost it to a couple of drunken foreigners?"

The woman blinked. "Shut up."

"Ha! And what'll the other guards say, huh? Bet you get stuck with something _worse_ then carriage duty."

The pair of them shared a look. It was the man that shook his head, blade lowering.

"Old Missus Meadows, she… she makes the greatest little cookies. Real fine. She has a shop just off the Market District. We only left the carriage for a moment, a moment."

"Understandable."

Alistair looked sideways at the qunari.

"But you did leave a note. Pinned to the hitching post." Bending to cut Alistair's bonds, the guardsman handed him a small sheet of parchment. It was covered in a familiar neat and scrolling script.

_Been walking all night. I think my friend may be a bit drunk and he is too large to carry. Thank you for the ride._

_Yours,_

_A._

_P.S. You have very pretty horses._

Oghren was peering over his shoulder. "Heh. Nice writin'."

"In the Chantry they taught us that penmanship is—"

"—Looks like a woman's."

"Shut up."

But the dwarf was grinning up at the guards now. "So… embarassin', huh? What's say you don't tell anybody, we don't tell anybody?"

The man almost looked relieved, but the woman was shaking her head. "We can't just let you _go_."

"But I'm sure we can work somethin' out…"

She blinked at that, leaning close to her partner to whisper in his ear. After a moment, his grin split wide. "Yeah. Yeah. We can do… something…"

* * *

Staring out at the fitted arrow, Alistair ground his teeth. "A training exercise," they had said. They could "use some volunteers."

The armor was hot, oversized, slipping over his face and cross his chest to hang below his knees. Already it was worn, dented, but they had assured him that the protection would be enough. Looking across the field to the archers waiting there, he suddenly wasn't so sure. Most of them were barely more than boys, holding the weapons awkwardly as they took their aim.

"Could we maybe, just—"

"—We had a deal." Behind the line, the guardswoman folded her arms, nodding to the nearest boy. "Go ahead, son."

The boy raised his bow, tongue jutting out as he squinted down the shaft. Alistair had been shot before, of course, but never… intentionally. Maker help him.

Somewhere off to the side, he could hear Sten snort. The qunari was already slipping his own battered suit over his head. Where they had found one in the man's size, Alistair couldn't guess but Oghren's hung nearly to his feet. Neither of them had flinched when the arrows came.

The guardswoman, though, raised her hand. "Hold! Have you boys ever shot at a _moving_ target?"

"What?"

Her grin turned wicked as she met Alistair's glare. "I'd start running if I were you."

* * *

"Ow. Ow, ow, ow."

"Be silent."

Rubbing at his back, Alistair glared up at the qunari. "That _hurt_."

"Speaking about it will not make it hurt less."

He sighed sullenly. "…It might."

The guardsmen had released them amid much snickering, leaving them out in the streets beyond the yard. It would be a long walk back to the Pearl.

"Hey!" The voice was shrill, angry. "Hey, you!"

Alistair whirled, sword already drawn. "Andraste's flaming knickers, what _now_?"

It was a dwarf, slipping from the alley ahead, three others filing out to stand at his back. Save the first, they all carried heavy axes, their faces tattooed and properly menacing. The leader, though, appeared unarmed, wearing only a set of tight-fitting, bleached leathers. He stopped before them, putting a hand on his hip as he waggled a finger.

"I see you, nug-humping, pansy human."

Alistair blinked. The hair and beard were neat now, braided and tied… and he was clothed, much, much more clothed… but this was the dwarf from the carriage.

"Maker's breath…"

"I have your elf."

"What?"

"Elf. Your elf friend. I have him. And you have my eighty sovereigns."

"Eighty… _sovereigns_?"

Beside him Oghren snorted. "Don't know what yer playin' at, casteless, but we ain't got that kinda coin."

"You don't. No, _you_ don't." Again, his voice rose piercing. "But I did! Until you took it! And then you lock me in a box!"

"We didn't—"

"—No! You owe me eighty sovereigns. Dirty Back Alley, you know it?"

"Which one?"

"_Dirty Back Alley_."

Oghren grunted. "Yeah. We know it."

"Good! You have until sundown. Meet me there. Bring eighty sovereigns. Or I kill your elf."


	6. Chapter 6

"Where are we going to get _eighty sovereigns_?" Alistair slammed his cup down on the table with perhaps a bit too much force. It should have been… odd to be drinking this early in the afternoon, but somehow it just felt… appropriate. He groaned, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth. "What are we gonna _do_?"

Oghren, too, was deep in his cups. If he had ever truly left. "We go to the meeting. Rescue the elf."

"Yeah? And when we show up without the coin, they'll kill him. You heard the dwarf. They'll kill him and then she… _she's_ gonna kill us."

Sten growled his assent. Flora hovered at his shoulder, refilling their cups, but for once the qunari didn't seem discomforted. He shook his head. "How much coin do we have?"

They had dug into their pockets upon arriving back at the Pearl, spreading the few odd silvers and coppers across the table between them. Flicking them under his fingers, Oghren shook his head. "Just under two sovereigns."

"Great."

"And another two from me." Reaching into her skirts, Flora bent to toss two fat gold coins into the pile.

Sten, though, grabbed her wrist. "No."

Curling against his lap, she ran a finger along his cheek. "Hush. I want to help."

The big man only scowled, subsiding as she settled herself there. Right. Alistair must be well and truly drunk now.

"He said we _had_ the money… maybe we…" But they had already looked, torn the room apart. There hadn't been so much as a copper. "Do you… do you think we _spent_ it? On the wedding?"

Oghren shook his head. "Nah. You paid for that, remember? With yer – heh – with yer dolls. Must have met this dwarf after."

Alistair could feel his chin tremble as he took another long sip. "Don't remind me." His eyes roamed the tavern. Already the afternoon was brining more customers, gathering at the tables, disappearing into the rooms beyond. "If only there was… y'know… like a-a tournament or something. With a purse of eighty sovereigns. And we could enter and get named champion and save Zevran and…" Leaning an elbow on the table, his head slumped against his hand.

"Heh. Fairy stories."

"Yeeeah, well…"

Sten reached across the table, pointedly sliding Alistair's mug away.

A familiar laugh behind them turned his head. Tall and red-haired, the woman was leaning cross a table of her own, the cards spread between her and the pair of men on the other side. Catching Alistair's eye, she smirked. Isabela, taking another hapless soul… at cards. He could feel the flush creeping up his cheeks.

Oghren, though, had followed his gaze. "Now that's not a bad idea."

"What?" He whirled round. "What's not – no!"

"Heh. Easy boy. Just talkin' 'bout _cards_."

"Oh. Wait… cards?"

The dwarf stroked a thoughtful hand through his beard. "Diamondback maybe. Heh. Yeh, that'd do it."

"The one… the one the whores play? In Orzammar?"

"That's the one. Lotsa rules, real complicated. Also makes it easy to cheat. S'why they like it."

"So you want to… what? Play it here?"

"Not here. Ya don't cheat whores at a whore's game." He nodded to Flora. "No offense."

"None taken. It's sound advice."

"Gotta go somewhere they won't have seen it before, somewhere where the clientele ain't so sharp." His grin was spreading wicked now. "Somewhere with more coin too."

Straightening, Alistair blinked, feeling his eyes widen as the dwarf explained his plan. Sten's scowl was steadily deepening.

As he finished, Flora giggled. "I have just the costumes for that."

* * *

"The qunari do not have… princes." Still the big man sneered, hand again straying to his strange, silken robes.

"Yes, but _they_ don't know that."

"It is… not right." He subsided grumbling, adjusting the brightly-colored pile of silks wrapped round his head. Stretching onto her toes, Flora helped him.

Her own outfit seemed to be little more than strings of beads, the occasional odd bit of cloth. Flushing, Alistair turned away.

What had Oghren called it? The King's Carta? It seemed simple enough. They would control both sides of the table, entice others to join the game… and then proceed to rob them blind. Most of them deserved it, he reminded himself. Either directly or in their silence, they were supporting Loghain. Pushing aside the door of the Gnawed Noble Tavern, Alistair felt his fists clench.

Oghren was already at the bar, staggering heavy as it waved a finger at the scowling barman. A decent act… or at least he thought it was an act.

"All's I'm saying-all's I'm saying is—"

"—Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave. I'm afraid that this is not the kind of establishment where we—"

"—What? Where you what? You've got mercenaries right over there. And Crows… soddin' Antivan _Crows_ doing business in the back bedroom. I've seen 'em. Yeh, I know what kind of place _this_ is. All I'm askin' is if any of your folk wanna make a bit o' coin…"

But the eyes had already strayed from the argument, those at the nearest tables and couches turning to gape instead at the riot of color looming in the doorway, at the barely clothed woman draped across his arm. And Alistair… right. He was wearing silks of his own – slightly more muted, thank the Maker. Slipping round, he bowed low, ushering Sten across the threshold.

Oghren had begun to laugh. "And what do we have here?"

The qunari remained as impassive as ever, striding to the bar without so much as glancing at the eyes to either side. Alistair's head had begun to clear and he suddenly felt himself regretting the fact.

"Who're you supposed to be?"

Right. His turn. "If you do not know my prince, then that is your own failing."

Sten did glance his way then, the snort bemused. But the word had had its desired affect; they had their attention. What had Oghren said? Give them something exotic, something rich and, more importantly, something easy.

"What is your business here, dwarf?"

"Business? My business? Just lookin' for a little fun is all. You ever heard of Diamondback? Royal game of Orzammar. Favorite of the late Endrin Aeducan himself."

Sten tilted his head. "I have."

"Good!" He turned to the barman with a satisfied smirk. "See? Whatsay we have a wager, you and I?"

Pressing insistently against Sten's arm, Flora giggled. He placed a hand over hers as he nodded. "Done."

They moved to a table, as close to the center of the room as possible. Still, Alistair could feel the eyes moving with them. He couldn't be the only one bothered by this…

Oghren settled quick enough, launching into an explanation of the rules that would have turned an experienced card player on his head. But there was no doubt that every ear was listening. When Sten's purse hit the table, someone dropped their glass.

The silver they had sorted, filling the rest of the purse with some more of Flora's jewelry, but there seemed to be a measurable hush as Sten slid the first of the two sovereigns cross the table.

Oghren snorted. "It's a start."

It seemed easy then, the dwarf's hands moving quick, the qunari's frustration mounting visibly – though again Alistair had to wonder how much of it was an act. As if for good measure, Flora seemed to find the need to stretch between rounds. Sooner than he would have guessed, they had a crowd and Oghren was coming to his feet.

Sten rose with him, angry now. "You cannot."

The dwarf stuffed his pockets hurriedly, effectively hiding the color of the coins. "Sorry. Gotta go."

"At least give me an opportunity to win back what I have lost."

"Heh. Maybe cards just aren't your thing. Stick to princing." With that, he strode from the tavern.

Sten sat heavy, Flora leaning her head disappointedly against his shoulder. Only slowly did he reach for the purse, only slowly did he…

"—Hey, hey hold on there… eh, your highness. If you're looking for a wager…" The man took Oghren's seat. Bald and sallow-cheeked, his grin looked somewhat glazed, the drink already thick on his breath.

Another joined him and then another, pulling chairs with them. Flora leaned low against Sten's shoulder, his eyes flickering where the other men gaped openly. All three sat sizable purses on the table.

"Diamondback, was it? Looks interesting…"

* * *

"Andraste's holy knickers, I don't believe it!"

Standing round the corner from the Gnawed Noble, Oghren leaned up on his toes to peer into Alistair's hands. The purse there was heavy, _very_ heavy.

A sovereign for the first round had given them four in the second and then eight in the third. But Sten had proven surprisingly adept at playing the fool, giving ground when he seemed to take too much, keeping his opponents off balance. When Alistair had complimented him, though, he had only scowled.

"It is something _you_ would do well to learn."

He was currently removing the last of the offending silks, dropping them into Flora's arms. Hesitating a moment over the hat, he growled. Right. Something about restraint then.

Oghren elbowed him in the ribs. "How much did we get?"

Grinning, Alistair shook his head. "Eighty-three sovereigns."

"Heh. Then let's go get that swishy, nug-licking, knife-eared son of a whore."

"Miss him, do you?"

"Shaddup."


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yup."

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. "Really? I mean 'dirty back alley'? It's not very specific. Could apply to—"

Oghren snorted. "—Just trust me."

With a growl, Sten nodded cross the road. The strange dwarf smirked to see them, trailing an idle hand along his hip as he swayed. Behind him came half a dozen others, leading a bound and hooded figure between them. Two of them broke wide to level crossbows at their chests.

They had made a brief stop at the Pearl, leaving Flora behind and recovering their proper gear. Old, cumbersome, perhaps a bit dented and ill tended, but never had he been so glad for the weight. Alistair shifted, steadying himself, as the dwarf waggled a finger.

"You have my coin?"

"We do."

"Good. Now. You bring it here."

Behind him, Sten stiffened. "This is not wise."

"'Course it ain't." Oghren raised his voice. "You surfacers lose your honor along with your Stone sense?"

The other dwarf stroked his beard, elbow jutting as he braced a hand against his waist. "_Me_ a surfacer?" Smirking, he shifted hips. "Oh yes, I have heard of you _Oghren_. The _pride_ of the Sword Caste. Already they are saying that you got so drunk that you stumbled up into the sky."

Alistair found himself laying a hand on the dwarf's arm, holding him back as he growled. "Oghren."

Sten moved to his other side. "Calm yourself."

"_Vaeta_." The other dwarf stepped between his guards, dragging the hooded figure forward by his bonds. "We will honor our bargain. You toss the coin; we send you the elf."

"Unwind your bows, duster. Then we'll see." Already the rage seemed to be subsiding, though Oghren's cheeks still flamed.

With a flippant sigh, he waggled his fingers. The bowmen unfitted their bolts. "Now. My coin."

Glancing briefly to the others, Alistair bent to slide the purse across the stones. The elf was sent staggering toward them with a kick behind the knee.

Sten cursed.

Alistair, too, found himself gritting his teeth as he pulled the hood away, blinking into the wide eyes of an elf he did not recognize.

"Hey!"

The dwarf glanced up from the purse with a grin.

"This isn't Zevran!"

"Your elf. Your friend. Your elf friend. That was our deal."

"Hey! We don't even know hi—" He skidded to a stop, the pair of crossbows pointed directly at him now.

"—Your friend. From last night. Particularly friendly with you, I saw." There was a knowing smirk there. As the others closed in to cover his retreat, the dwarf blew them a bowing kiss.

"_Vashedan_."

But the elf was still gagged, mumbling as he struggled to free his wrists. With a sigh, Alistair cut the bonds, pulling the soiled cloth from his mouth.

"Alistair! Thank the Maker!"

"Sorry?"

"It's Dag! Dagrian? The apothecary?"

He shook his head.

The elf's smile turned sheepish as he rubbed the stiffness from his wrists. "Well, amateur apothecary anyway. Mostly I just work at the Pearl."

"Heh."

Alistair turned to Oghren. "What?"

"He's a whore."

The elf shrugged, grin spreading as Alistair flushed. "Wait… he said… did-did we…?"

Dagrian laughed, slipping an arm round his shoulders. "No, no, unfortunately no. But I did do you a favor. Tell me, how did it go?"

"How did what go?"

He leaned close with a conspiratorial wink. "The _potion_. For your drinks. How was it?"

"What potion?"

Sten had folded his arms, stepping closer. "What did you give us? Speak."

The elf backed away, holding up his palms defensively. "Hey! Hey! All of you were keen enough. A special night, you said. Paid me good coin for it."

"What. Was. It."

"Just a little Incense of Awareness. Supposed to, y'know, expand your mind they say. Give a good bit of kick to the ale."

Alistiar quirked a brow. "That's not… exactly what happened."

"Oh?" Holding up a finger, Dagrian dug into his pouches. "Magebane, Deathroot, Rock Salve, Incense of A— Oh. Heh."

"What?"

"Uh, might not have exactly been—" He held up a vial with a shrug.

"Then what was it?"

Again, he rifled through his pouches, counting the glasses rattling there. "Hmm, Soldier's Bane most like."

"_Soldier's Bane?_ We _drank_ Soldier's Bane?"

"We were poisoned by a whore."

Chuckling, Oghren glanced up at the qunari. "Like I said, a good night."

He scowled. "We should return to the Warden. Admit our failure."

"Not when you say it like that."

"The assassin is gone. Perhaps he returned to his homeland."

"Heh. Sure went on about it enough."

Alistair turned away. Sten was right; it was over. But he found him blinking into the still smiling face of the elf. He sighed. "Do you… like it?"

"Like what?"

"Y'know… with the… for money?"

Dagrian shrugged. "Keeps a roof over my head. And I know the Pearl's probably nothing to travelers like yourselves, but there are much worse roofs in Denerim, trust me."

Alistair nodded, almost turning back to the others. He stopped dead, laying a hand on Oghren's shoulder.

"Whoa, boy. What is it?"

"I know where Zevran is."

* * *

Flora looked up from scrubbing a table as they burst through the door. The Pearl was already well packed, none of the other patrons or girls so much as glancing their way.

"Flora! Are there stairs? A way onto the roof?"

She nodded. "There's a ladder in the rear cupboard. Last door on the left."

Already Alistair was wending his way through the crowd, ducking through the doorway into the relative silence of the private hallways. He could hear Sten keeping pace, Oghren huffing behind as he shouldered the door aside.

"Hey!" The man started with a glare, the woman… dwarf… other woman… tangled beneath him glancing up in surprise. Someone threw a pillow.

"Sorrysorrysorry!"

"Left, boy! She said _left_!"

Slamming shut the door, Alistair bolted for the one opposite, suddenly finding himself wedged in a dark and musty cupboard. "Okay, ow."

Laughing still, Oghren shouldered him aside, leaping to hoist himself onto the ladder. His legs flailed a moment, a string of barely formed curses spilling from between gritted teeth. Gaining purchase at last, he snorted. "Here's hopin' you're right about this."

As he pulled himself slowly up the rungs behind, Alistair craned his neck to the meager light spilling round the edges of the trapdoor above. "Maybe… maybe it locks from the inside and he's been stuck up there all night, all day. Maker, what if there's no shade? What if he burnt up?" He blinked. "What if… what if he didn't wake up? I mean… poison!"

Beneath him, Sten grunted. "Be silent."

Oghren only laughed. "Crows got poison for blood, they say. Drink it for fun. Bet he's up here laughing at us. Or halfway to Antiva by now."

He had reached the door, balancing on the uppermost rung to fling it wide. What little light was left in the day seemed suddenly blinding. Hoisting himself up over the edge, Alistair gave his eyes a moment to adjust.

"Zevran!"

He lay on his back cross an upturned crate, one arm flung over his eyes as the other dangled limp to the ground.

"Ohhh, Maker! Is he—?"

Bending to his side, Alistair barely even flushed for his nakedness. There was breath there, maybe… but shallow… if he was…

The hand came hard against his wrist. "You are in my light."

Alistair stood quick, choking as he stumbled back against the others. "Maker's breath, Zev!"

Propping himself up on his elbows, he fixed them with a tired smirk. "Come to join me at last, I see?"

"What are you… what are you doing?"

Swinging his legs round the side of the crate, he stretched. "You think it does not take effort to stay this beautiful?"

"Heh."

"Oghren, if you are going to stare you could at least buy me dinner first."

"Soddin' nug-licking son of a whore."

Zevran met his grin.

"But you… you were up here all day?"

He shrugged. "Unfortunately, the door seems to lock from the inside. I attempted to signal you…"

"By tossing your clothes off the building?"

He nodded. "But we made the best of it."

"We?"

Following the direction of his nod, Alistair peered round the crate. Two… three… four… The women lay in something of a tangled heap, sleeping heads pillowed against arms and legs and breasts. He could feel his eyes go wide as he met the elf's smirk.

"Well, I think I know where the coin went."

"Funny you should mention coin." He stooped, scooping up something from beside the crate. "I seem to have acquired a purse. Must be almost seventy sovereigns."

"Eighty."

He quirked a brow.

"Well, minus the whores I suppose."

"Ahh, but you wound me."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Alistair turned to the others. "Is that it then? Can we go?"

* * *

"Sten!"

She came running cross the common room, pulling up short to run hesitant fingers over the box in her hands. Alistair had expected the big man to brace himself, grimace perhaps, but there was something almost… guilty there.

Flora blinked up at him a moment before shaking her head. "I know… I know there's the Blight and all, but I just wanted to say… and to – um – give you this…"

He took the box carefully, staring down at it a moment before peeking beneath the lid.

"I know how you like them."

Standing in the doorway with Oghren and a newly-clothed Zevran, Alistair felt his jaw drop. The qunari was… almost smiling.

"I am sure our travels will bring us to Denerim again. I will…" Even he seemed to pause, tilting his head. "…see you then."

She smiled, leaning up on her toes to lay a kiss upon his cheek. "I'd like that."

As they stepped into the street, Oghren let loose a rumbling laugh, Zevran clapping the big man on the back. Alistair, though, peered round.

"What's in the box?"

Sten opened the lid a crack.

"Ooh, can I—?"

"No." It nearly snapped shut on his fingers.

Pausing a moment, Alistair's hand strayed instead to the unaccustomed weight of the purse at his side. "Right. Just one stop to make first."

* * *

The dragon glided on the air, swooping low as the warrior leapt up to catch it. Even as they passed through the city gates, beneath the astonished glances of the guardsmen, he smiled. After the day they had had he didn't care who saw.

But they waited in the road ahead. _She_ waited, her grin widening in relief.

Flushing, Alistair hastily dropped the figures back into his pouch.

They seemed to cross the distance slowly, the four of them in a row: Zevran still stretching to work away the aches of the night's activity, Oghren taking a long pull from his flask, Sten slipping another cookie from the box and Alistair… hands straying to those familiar and comforting lumps as he glanced back toward the gate.

Morrigan, Leliana and Shale waited with her, one scowling, one smirking and one… well, scanning the skies for signs of attack. But it was _she_ that held his eye, she that strode forward to press her lips to his.

"Did you have fun?"

He glanced back over his shoulder, the others pointedly avoiding his eyes. Only Zevran shrugged.

But still he was smiling up at him. "Well? What did you guys get up to?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing, really."

Behind him Sten rumbled his assent, busying himself with taking another bite.

"Heh. Seen more life in the Deep Roads, myself."

Zevran yawned. "It was quite… uneventful."

Slowly her eyes roamed from one to the other, narrowing suspiciously as she shook her head. After a moment, she shrugged. "Well, alright then. We'd best get moving."

As they started up the road, Alistair took one last glance back at the gates. What happens in Denerim…

FIN.


End file.
